This Poem was Submitted By: Fred F Cureau On Date: 2000-07-12 18:42:01 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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EMMETT KELLY

Was it the sadness in your brown eyes the unnatural whiteness of your lips, edges turned downward in an eternal frown or the emotionlessness of your face always staring past the obvious towards some future nowhere, which gave you such a melancholy look. You were the classic hobo, America's favorite tramp son with a stubbly greasepaint beard, a professional vagabond with a round red rubber nose  and an uncanny ability to always be followed around by a procession of small dark clouds. I didn't realize it then but beneath the circus paint and costume lived the brilliance of a master psychologist. By appearing so down on your luck, so hopeless, you made the audience fill with pity and for a few moments laugh loudly, so loudly in fact, that we forgot the unpleasantness in our lives. Compared to your situation our hand-me-down clothes were transformed into the robes of royalty, our sadness didn't seem so dark. Even our uncles' old size twelve shoes seemed to fit well by comparison  to the oversized ones that flopped on your feet. Your comedic routines made us laugh and as if we were sipping a snake oil tonic, our pains seemed to slip away. Without a word you used that old worn-out broom  to sweep our worries and concerns under the rug along with that pesky spotlight. People may have called you a clown but for a few pennies on those warm Saturday evenings, long ago you worked your special kind of magic helping a troubled generation suffering the unemployment poverty, hunger and hopelessness  of a worldwide depression, see a few rays of sunshine breaking through darkened skies. I could be wrong but I believe you would have done it all for free. That was your nature and buffoonery the big top and circus sawdust were in your blood.

Copyright © July 2000 Fred F Cureau

Additional Notes:
Because he made us laugh! Thank you!


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